Orochimaru could never forget that day—three years ago.
It was the 48th year of the Shinobi World Calendar, the year the Third Great Ninja War ended.
Konoha, besieged on all fronts, had paid a heavy price to secure final victory.
But…
"What was the point?"
Orochimaru's thin lips moved without sound, his gaze calm as he looked ahead.
Lead-gray clouds stretched across the sky. The graveyard, already cold and bleak, felt even more desolate in the gloom. The crowd wept quietly, bowed under their umbrellas like reeds bent by rain. A sea of black umbrellas resembled a murder of crows gathering overhead.
He stood in the middle of it all, eyes fixed on the old man at the very front.
That was his teacher—Hiruzen Sarutobi, the Third Hokage.
Sarutobi wiped the rain from a tombstone. The small gesture rippled through the crowd like a wave of grief.
Orochimaru turned slightly and noticed a bowl-cut child.
He recognized the kid—often seen jogging around Konoha on his hands with his Genin-ranked father. The two of them had always seemed hopelessly cheerful and naive, utterly oblivious to the sneers and mockery around them.
But now…
This was the first time Orochimaru saw that child cry—truly cry. Snot and tears smeared into a muddy mess across his face.
He'd heard the boy had encountered the Seven Ninja Swordsmen of the Mist during a mission. That "useless" Genin father of his had rushed in, shielding the child and ensuring his escape.
In the end, the man had killed four of them single-handedly, forcing the remaining three to retreat with grievous injuries.
And the father died as a result.
Then there was the other boy…
Orochimaru's serpentine gaze shifted, catching a glimpse of a frail young face soaked in rain, without even an umbrella to shield him.
The boy's cries were low and hoarse, barely more than a rasp. His shoulders trembled, sobbing like the slow tear of fabric. His tears fell unceasingly, blending into the rain.
Hyuga Shigure.
Timid, fragile, and frail. At an age when his peers had begun training in Gentle Fist, Shigure had yet to awaken the Byakugan. He was known as the "failure" of the Hyuga Clan.
His father hadn't died in battle. While escorting a wounded main branch member back to base, he was tortured to death by the Caged Bird Seal—punished for exhausting his chakra in protecting that same clan elder.
That man had once earned merit under Orochimaru's command during the Second Great Ninja War.
How old were these boys?
Twelve, maybe?
Twelve. Sent to war. Lost their only family at twelve…
Orochimaru looked once more at the old man in front. Lightning split the sky, flashing bone-white and gray.
The Third Hokage's hunched silhouette cast a monstrous shadow across the earth, his expression caught in a chiaroscuro of grief and dignity.
For the first time, after two wars, Orochimaru felt overwhelming disgust—deep enough to make him nauseous.
What meaning did these deaths have?
Nothing had changed. Nothing would change.
When the crowd dispersed, only tombstones remained.
Orochimaru stood before Nawaki's grave, a black umbrella ink-dark in the rain. He placed a white chrysanthemum on the stone, staring at the familiar name without feeling a thing.
Sorrow? Anger? Pity?
None.
Yet he wasn't calm.
Watching raindrops slide off the umbrella and vanish into the engraved cracks, he felt only a creeping, bone-deep fear.
"U-Um…"
A timid voice sounded from behind—barely more than a whisper squeezed from the throat.
Orochimaru turned instinctively.
He was met with a pair of Byakugan.
His chilly expression startled the boy, who took an involuntary step back—but held his ground.
"Y-Your face… doesn't look good, so I…"
Under Orochimaru's gaze, the voice grew smaller and smaller.
He stared down at the boy—Hyuga Shigure—and realized he'd stood at the grave too long. The boy was concerned for his health and state of mind.
Kind and timid.
Truly a failure.
Orochimaru made his judgment silently and prepared to leave without another word.
"Lord Orochimaru."
A voice called out behind him, halting his steps.
"Do you… know what the meaning of life is?"
Orochimaru squinted and turned. The boy still looked timid, head tilted upward in confusion.
"My father spoke of you often," Shigure said. "He called you a hero of Konoha. I thought… someone like you would surely know…"
"There is no meaning."
Orochimaru cut him off gently. "If there is, it only exists while life remains."
"The dead have no meaning."
Death is the great equalizer.
Whatever you accomplished or possessed in life—death takes it all.
A shiver passed through him. The cold wind slipped into his collar. His grip on the umbrella tightened.
Yes, death means losing everything. He didn't want to lose everything.
He wanted everything.
So—he must not die.
"Lord Orochimaru," Shigure suddenly asked, "Do you believe in gods?"
Orochimaru blinked—then chuckled softly.
He'd always scoffed at Jiraiya's obsession with the "Child of Prophecy" who would save the world.
To him, gods and prophets were nothing more than fabrications for the weak to comfort themselves.
Omniscient, omnipotent deities did not exist. And even if they did—they were just stronger beings.
"What if... they had eternal life?"
Shigure quickly continued. "My father left me a scroll and a b—body. He said the scroll held secrets of the Hyuga Clan, and the body belonged to our ancestor—one who hadn't died, just… lost his soul."
Though Shigure's voice grew softer, uncertain even to himself, Orochimaru's eyes narrowed with interest.
If anyone in the shinobi world understood "souls," it was him.
To most, souls were intangible myths. But to him, they were a key to unlocking life's essence.
And the Hyuga were one of the oldest clans...
He stared at the boy's sweat-beaded forehead.
Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to take a look?
Then—Shigure suddenly felt the cold rain stop.
He looked up, blinking. Orochimaru was standing before him, umbrella shielding him from the rain.
"Why tell me this?"
The boy blinked, caught off guard.
Orochimaru crouched slightly to meet him eye to eye.
"Isn't this a clan secret? Why not tell your elders?"
That pale face curved into a strangely charming smile.
"My father said... if he died, I could trade the scroll and body to the clan for a better life."
"But I don't trust them," Shigure added quietly. "They're the ones who killed him."
There was bitterness in his voice. Orochimaru noticed his small fists clenched tightly.
So the boy had a bit of spine after all.
"Do you want me to avenge you?" Orochimaru asked with a sly grin. "Aren't you afraid I'll tell the Hyuga?"
"I don't think you would," Shigure replied softly, looking up with unwavering eyes. "And even if you did…"
"I don't have much to lose."
"Only myself."
Those resolute white eyes stunned Orochimaru into silence.
Then he laughed.
Of course. Living may not always bring meaning. But only by living can you find interesting people and things.
Later, Shigure handed over the scroll and the body.
Orochimaru broke some of the seals, learning of the Ōtsutsuki Clan—celestial beings from another world, inherently powerful, able to reincarnate using something called a "Karma Mark."
Each pair would journey across the stars, planting "God Trees" to absorb life from planets. The "Main Branch" returned home, leaving "Branch Members" to guard the tree.
The soul-less body belonged to one such Branch Ōtsutsuki.
He left chakra in the world and descendants—today's Hyuga Clan.
Even without unlocking the scroll's final secrets, this discovery shook Orochimaru to his core.
Such perfect anatomy. Such a flawless body. Not human at all.
Eternal life was real.
The soul… might truly live forever.
Three years passed.
Orochimaru believed he had complete control over Shigure, who always obeyed him, even delivering messages to the Third or Root despite his fear.
Orochimaru also noticed Shigure lacked combat talent but had a rare scientific intuition—often providing sparks of insight.
Even Tsunade had never shown such curiosity about life's core mysteries.
For that, Orochimaru felt a sliver of camaraderie. He almost… didn't want to destroy the boy's soul.
But greed for truth and immortality drowned that flicker.
Until now.
Now—seeing the boy strike, standing over a decapitated corpse—Orochimaru felt surreal.
Three years… had it all been a dream?
"You…"
The question escaped him—stupid, pointless.
"What are you doing?"
But Shigure merely smiled.
"Thank you, Lord Orochimaru."
"As you said: true ignorance isn't lack of knowledge—it's refusing to learn."
"Weakness and ignorance aren't obstacles to survival."
"Arrogance is."
Yes—because of arrogance, Orochimaru had never seen the "failure" for what he truly was.
He'd focused on the Ōtsutsuki corpse, ignoring all the signs.
A frail boy without Byakugan—what could he do?
But Shigure had been an island—his swamp hidden beneath the forest.
Orochimaru hadn't chosen him.
Shigure chose Orochimaru.
He had been played by a child.
Realizing this, Orochimaru let out a twisted laugh.
"You think you can escape me?"
As he spoke, he vanished.
Killing intent erupted, freezing the air like ice breaking across a riverbed.
Buzz!!
A deafening screech tore the air—the sound of a kunai moving too fast to see.
Even drained, Orochimaru was still too strong.
The incomplete Ōtsutsuki body, conjured with thousands of Reality Points, granted only potential—not power.
As the kunai's glint reached Shigure's pupils, they remained calm.
Then—to Orochimaru's shock—Shigure didn't dodge.
He stepped forward.
Shhk!
Blood sprayed violently.
The blade cut halfway through Shigure's neck—his larynx, windpipe, and vertebrae.
A normal human would've died within seconds.
"Just as I thought."
Shigure smiled. His lips moved silently:
"Even now, you couldn't bring yourself to pierce the heart, could you?"
Then… I win.
BOOM!
A thunderous crash exploded behind Orochimaru.
He turned—facing an enraged elder.
"Orochimaru! What are you doing?!"
Shigure closed his eyes.
Falling.
A failure shackled by the Caged Bird Seal.
Fate gave me the worst script imaginable.
But that's all right.
Because I was born to be the greatest actor.